


Dinner at 6

by FuLaiMingJuTu



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:27:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28000146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuLaiMingJuTu/pseuds/FuLaiMingJuTu
Summary: “Maybe just teammates for now? Really close teammates?”“I don’t take teammates to French dinners.”
Relationships: Dele Alli/Son Heung-min
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Dinner at 6

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing a fanfic and English is my second language so forgive me if I got anything wrong^

London, huh? He's gotten used to this city, the rain, the food, the banters he doesn't get, and the man with the banters he doesn't get. 

Sonny has this theory that those who talk slowly with a foreigner is nice, but those who talk to a foreigner just like he would anyone else takes you as one of his own. The former is every other Tottenham player, and the latter is Dele Alli. 

“If Y E S spells yes, what does E Y E S spell?” Dele asks, an innocent look on his face.

Here we go again. Sonny knows where this is heading to, but he doesn't mind if these little trolls spice up a long afternoon's training session.

“Say that again?” The fish is on the hook, knowingly.

“If Y E S spells yes, what does E Y E S spell?” 

It's just eyes, duh. Except he can't say that, if he did Dele will be disappointed. He looks at Dele's still innocent but lowkey excited face, and he thinks he doesn't want Dele to be disappointed.

“E Y E S?” He puts his befuddled face on and out with it, “ Eyaaas.”

Dele burst into laughter. Sonny laughed along. This is how they two works. They stick together in training, they stick together on the pitch, and though a bit too often than Sonny would like, they stick together off the pitch as well.

“HAHAHA you got me again.”Sonny says. To be honest sometimes he would like to just leave that hook hanging, but more often than not he likes his friend even more.

Dele rolled his foam roller and turned to the cameraman,“Did you get that on camera?”

Sonny turned to the same direction and saw that cameraman choking with laughter. Dele went on about some bougie restaurant he booked for dinning, but Sonny didn’t hear a word of what he’s saying. Yes, he's okay with being trolled in training, in the dressing room, in life. But not in front of the camera, never in front of the camera. He wanted to yell but the words won't come out. Where should he even begin? When you've held back too much, is hard even to simply stop holding back. So instead he just remained silent and act like nothing happened. He walked away the second Mourinho’s sharp whistle says it's over, without waiting for Dele as he always does. 

For a moment he wanted to turn around and see if Dele is following him, feeling sorry for trolling him, or at least confused with him. But no, he didn’t and he wasn’t. He can hear them, the others, talking and laughing and running. Among them is that husky voice, a voice Sonny barely recognize now. So English and so ......, so distanced.

“Guess it’s not the same after all.” Sonny thought, “Guess this is my friend.”

Sonny stepped into the shower, but just as he took off his shirt he wanted to put it back on and sneak into another stall --- he heard Dele’s voice in the stall right next to his, and he is not really the man Sonny feel like showering right next to now. But Sonny he’s done sneaking, for once he doesn’t feel like being the bigger man. He didn’t even hold back the ‘Phew’ as the warm water splashed on his worn out body. He knew Dele is gonna tell but he doesn’t care, or at least start trying to not care.

“Yo, look who still got time for shower,” Dele did tell, he can tell that voice from a mile away, “surprised you haven’t hopped on the car already.” And looks like he did mind him not waiting for him and was not about to let that go, but neither was Sonny. 

“And why would I do that?” 

“Cuz you can’t wait three seconds to......Nah it’s no fun, you don’t get it. Anyway dinner at 6 cuz we got an afternoon match tomo-”

“That’s right, I don’t get it! I never get anything! You happy about that? I will never get any of this and I will be your little sidekick forever! Use me for fun and toss me aside when you’re done......” And that is as far as he can get, for that last word even sounds gay to himself. He lost it and the two starting laughing almost simultaneously, only after ages did they finally managed to stop. 

Dele is still breathy from all that laughing but he pulled himself together and asks, “Wait, so that’s what this is all about? That--” he finds it weird talking to Sonny through that thin wall, so he tied a towel around his waist and ducked into Sonny’s stall. Before Sonny can even scream, Dele already covered his mouth and grabbed him by the shoulder, seems oddly comfortable with this fluttering intimacy. “That eyes joke? I’m sorry but you’ve always seem cool with it, but if it makes you feel uncomfortable I guess I......” 

Sonny is still working on his towel clumsily, “It not the joke, it’s the camera.” Sonny hesitated, “And that you didn’t follow me.” 

“Oh come on what I am I, a school girl?” 

“School girls know when to say sorry......”

” I will make you sorry......”

“Jeez get a room you two.” It’s Harry yelling from a stall other side of the room. He is used to all this and knows they’re just tickling each other and splashing water. Though there is always this one moment when he has this hunch that there is more to it, but he respects his two teammates too much to even indulge himself in that thought. It’s just two young lads playing in the shower, nothing more, probably both naked, but nothing more.

Dele and Sonny’s skin were rubbing against each other in that stall, a stall so tiny that it’s impossible to overlook each others chests rise and fall, the streams of water coming down from their wet hair, and the towels stuck to their skin, saving very little for imagination. Laughter, swear words and bumping shoulders. Skin, bruises and traces of desire, traces so intangible yet so thinly-veiled.

“Dele.”

“Yes?”

Sonny didn’t have anything to say. Except for calling his name again and again. 

Dele, Dele, Dele. 

“It’s just Dele.” It’s the very first words Dele said to him. He was being introduced to the team and of course, being the humble, polite person he is, “So nice meeting you! I’m Sonny Heung-Min, you must be Dele Alli!”

“It’s just Dele,” words that sounded aloof back then but Sonny recalls them with a smile on his face, because after a few weeks he was talking to him with the same aloof tone, “Dinner tonight?”

“Do you still remember what it was like on your first few months here?” Dele asks while watching Sonny getting dressed. He noticed on Sonny’s first day here that this new guy is clumsy with his clothes. Clumsy but weirdly adorable.

“Why?”

Part of Dele wanted to say, “Cuz you haven’t change one bit from your first day here”, and maybe with an affectionate tone and gazing eyes, but instead he just said, “Nothing just a random thought.”

Sonny didn’t replied. Of course he remembers, but it was hard, so hard he prefer not to speak about it. He remembers how the pundits saying he’s not good enough , he remembers how he couldn’t fit in during training, he remembers how he was subbed off at 60 almost every single game. He remembers vividly and wish he doesn’t .

He had just came out of Germany, speaks very few words of English and barely goes to anywhere else than home, training ground and the stadiums. It makes no difference for him whether it’s Leverkusen or London, German or English, Bratwurst or sausages.

“How is everything going?” Pochettino use to ask him the exact same thing all the time, and Sonny knows you are only asked how is everything going when everything is not going great.

“Great,” and he use to reply the exact same thing, “This team is great, I’m working a lot.” Simple and all about football, just like him, “English is hard. Weather is bad. Dinners are nice.” And English is hard. The weather is bad. Dinners not that nice, but it’s with Dele.

Almost without exception would Pochettino tell him to “keep it up” with a serious look on his face, and almost without exception would Dele pop out of nowhere, bumps his shoulder and says,”I know, right?” Sonny knew is not that he has a problem with Poch, is just Dele reaching out. Lots of other players reached out to him, with their hospitality and sophistication, but he was the first. With all of his awkwardness and a cynical facade, he reached out to him. He was the first.

“You were the first......” Sonny’s thoughts slipped out without him even noticing.

“What?”

“Nothing. Doesn’t matter.” But why? It’s not nothing, and it does matter. He is disappointed at himself, and at Dele. They are going to that silly French place Dele booked, and Dele is driving, cool as you please. He is at sea and he is driving. Sonny feels this anger coming out of nowhere and said, “Cowards.”, and as if that wasn’t enough, he went on and shouted it out one more time,”COWARDS!”

Dele seems to understand and doesn’t mind his contextless wrath. “Nuh-uh, lose the S, we only got one coward in this car.” 

Just one, just you. 

“ How can I put it in a way that you are able to understand? That you are willing to understand? Tell me and I’ll do it.” 

Sonny turned to him, looked at him. At his caramel skin and his deep-set eyes. At his flirty face and his nervous fingers. He thought of them. Their weekday dinners and their weekend matches. Their midnight phone calls and their good morning texts. Their late nights and their early mornings. And he thought of Korea, of London, of Tottenham, of the White Hart Lane.

Might go to hell for this, but if he’s going with Dele, then hell can’t be that bad a place after all.

Sonny reached out and held Dele’s hand. He leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead, lightly and restrained. Then he saw Dele with that look on his face. That one look that tells Sonny better cool things down or it’s not gonna end easy. 

“So where are we now?” Dele asked, leaning over until he’s close, too close that Sonny had to shut his eyes. “Dates?” Sonny felt a soft kiss on his fingers, “Boyfriends?” And on his nose, “Husbands-to-be?” And on his ears. He tried to pull away but the kisses tore him apart.

“Maybe just teammates for now? Really close teammates?”

No way Dele is gonna let him have his way again this time. He pressed Sonny against the seat and kissed him, again and again, as if he’s oxygen and he’s dying to breathe.

“I don’t take teammates to French dinners.” And he stepped on the gas.


End file.
